


Dying to Win

by oldguardhc



Series: Decennial Awards [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:33:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldguardhc/pseuds/oldguardhc
Summary: The world's most infamous immortals gather for their favorite night of the decade--the Decennial Awards. There will be intrigue, there will be drama, there will be alcohol and there will be an awful amount of peanuts.Based off@silly-old-guard-auspost
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Decennial Awards [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138307
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90





	Dying to Win

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I want to thank [@merelypassingtime](https://merelypassingtime.tumblr.com/) for being my beta. This story was a huge mess and you've miraculously made it cohesive. I also want to thank [@flamingbluepanda](https://flamingbluepanda.tumblr.com/). I've been bouncing ideas off of you since November and your support has been wonderful!

They’re in Vegas for this decade’s decennial award ceremony. If the others had any say in it, they’d be on the other side of the world, sipping cocktails out of coconuts and sunbathing on the crystal-clear beaches. They’re not this decade’s host though, _Joe is_ , so they’re in Vegas. 

Joe knows he wins them over a little bit when they walk into their room. Correction, _suite_. It’s a two-story villa that has a 24-hour personal butler, a gaming area, a private pool that overlooks the Strip and so much more. He had to reserve the room four years ago to ensure that they would be able to stay the entire week. 

As the host, Joe’s the first one in the living room. He hooks up his laptop and microphone, places the box of awards on the table next to the TV, and after a quick equipment check, where he taps on the microphone and clicks through his entire slide deck, he sends the ready text to the group. 

Nicky’s the first one down. He’s wearing all black this year, from his form-fitting suit jacket that draws Joe’s eyes to his broad shoulders down to his trim waist, to his matte dress shirt and silk tie that Joe wants to tug on. Nicky descends the black and white marble stairs silently, both hands stuffed in his slacks’ pockets. He carries himself with a quiet confidence that makes Joe’s knees wobble as he meets him at the foot of the stairs, right hand outstretched. 

“You look gorgeous,” Joe whispers, pulling Nicky close to lean in for a small kiss. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Nicky responds when they pull apart, straightening Joe’s bowtie. “Molto bello.”

If it wasn’t for Andy’s clicking footsteps, Joe would have dipped in for another kiss right then and there. 

Unlike Nicky, Andy’s entire presence screams for attention. Her measured footsteps echo throughout the suite and Joe lets out a low whistle as she comes into sight, dark mini-dress shimmering more than the galaxy on a clear night. Her short black hair has been pinned down and it’s easy to see how she was once worshipped as a goddess. 

“Hello boys,” Andy smiles, wide and sharp, and Joe pities all the fools that will encounter her later tonight. She looks both of them up and down with approval, “Looking good.”

“You too, boss.” Joe twirls his finger around and she rolls her eyes but indulges him by twirling on the spot. “ _Very_ good.” Nicky smacks his chest and Joe doesn’t have to glance over at him to know the hypocrite is admiring Andy too. 

“Don’t be insulting, she’s stunning,” Nicky says, making Andy laugh and pat his cheek. It always baffles Joe when people say he’s the charmer when Nicky is the one who’s always dropping compliments at every opportune moment. 

Booker joins them a minute later, galloping down the stairs and hopping the last two, pulling his suit down as he straightens. He’s in a pearl green suit with a light blue dress shirt and green striped tie; Joe has to do a double-take to confirm that this is really their Booker. 

“Wow,” Joe drawls out, letting go of Nicky to pull Booker into a side hug. “Who is this handsome guy?” Booker ducks his head, displaying a rare moment of humility that makes Joe’s arm tighten. 

“Looks like I’ve got competition,” Andy says, carefully running her fingers through Booker’s styled-up hair. He did a good job, tall and fluffy, rather than slick and greasy.

Nicky pushes Booker’s tie further up until it's almost pressing against his Adam's apple. “I’m sure Vegas is big enough for both of you.” 

“Alright, alright,” Booker grumbles, batting all their hands and arms away. He’s smiling though, soft and easy, and Joe wishes he could stay like this all the time, because sometimes, Joe forgets that he can carry anything other than grief. “Let’s get this award show started, I want to beat all of you guys!”

And cocky Booker is back. 

They all walk to the living room and while Nicky, Booker, and Andy get settled on the brown leather sofas that border almost the entire room, Joe goes to the front to pick up his microphone and begin his slide deck. On the TV, ‘ _43rd Decennial Awards_ ’ appears, written in bright gold cursive on a black background. 

“Lady and Gentlemen, welcome to the 43rd decennial celebration of our existence! As your host for tonight, I would like to thank every one of you for joining me in the wonderful city of Las Vegas.”

“This wasn’t our choice,” Booker points out. Unhelpfully, in Joe’s humble opinion.  
Using his decades of experience, Joe ignores him and continues. “To remind you all, we have our six main categories: Best Death, Weirdest Death, Weirdest Sleeping Spot, Most Outlandish Bet Won, Best Disguise, and Best Excuse for Suddenly Being Not Dead. This year, I have also decided to include: Most Embarrassing Technological Mistake, Biggest Explosion, and my personal favorite, Dumbest Way to Die.”

The three guests whoop and cheer from the couch. 

Joe grins and clicks the space bar to bring up the next slide: a picture of a man with his head buried in his arms in front of an open laptop. He had to photoshop it because the original image had stock reports littered all around the desk and Joe is proud of how it turned out. 

“We are going to start with a new category tonight: Most Embarrassing Technological Mistake. This covers any issues related to technology. For our first nominee, we have Nicolò Di Genova, who had unknowingly been connected to the living room Bluetooth speaker when he decided to watch pornography.”

Nicky jumps up off the couch, completely outraged. “It was an ad! For laundry detergent!” 

Joe nods, his smile full of fake sympathy, and waves for him to sit down. “Do not be ashamed Nicolò, we all know how awful it is to have a partner that doesn’t properly satisfy you.” 

“ _Joe!_ ” 

Joe barely contains the grin that wants to make an appearance at his indignant husband. Meanwhile, Andy and Booker don’t even bother hiding their snickers. 

“Our next nominee is Sebastien Le Livre, who had unknowingly been texting a young teenager from Wisconsin under the false assumption that she was Andy.” Joe has to dodge a napkin ball that is lobbed at him. He forgot how dangerous being a host is. 

“Low blow, Joe,” Booker says and Joe shrugs. He isn’t the one who texts teenage girls. 

“Next, we have Andromache the Scythian. Now, there were many events to choose from and it truly was a difficult process to narrow it down to one. But the mistake that was ultimately chosen for this award show was when Andromache handed over a library card to a perplexed cashier. When the cashier had asked if it was the right card, our dear Andromache had snapped back that there were two hundred dollars on it.” 

“I thought it was the e-payer!” Oh Andy. The library card wasn’t even the right color.

“They all look the same!” Then, muttering to herself. “Shit like this didn’t happen when we had proper coins.”

“You never had the right currency,” Nicky reminds her. 

“At least I didn’t say geese, like that one time when you traded-”

“Anyways!” Nicky loudly interrupts. “Who’s next?”

“That was the last-” Joe begins, and Nicky laughs, standing up to steal the microphone from him. 

“Our _last_ entry is Yusuf Al-Kaysani, who accidentally ordered fifty gallons of lubricant online for pick-up and received the most judgmental stares from those CVS employees.”

Joe snatches the microphone back. “I thought it said milliliters!”

Booker bursts out laughing as he remembers that awful, _awful_ night. “Their _faces_! They had to help you put it in the trunk because there was so much.” 

Joe doesn’t scowl. He _doesn’t_. If his middle finger goes up as he scratches his eye, then that’s purely a coincidence. 

“Now that we have our nominees, it’s time to announce the winner.” Joe pulls the first envelope out of his jacket pocket. “And the winner for Most Embarrassing Technological Mistake is…” he flips open the card that was inside and wow, he didn’t expect that one. “Sebastien Le Livre! Congratulations Sebastien, please come up here to claim your reward.”

Joe tosses the card and envelope to the side to pick up the first award. He hands it to Booker, “For people who cannot be trusted with technology.”

Booker holds the prize up, a puzzled expression on his face. “This is a rock.” 

“It is,” Joe agrees. “Anybody you want to thank?” 

Booker looks at the black rock in his hand, looks back up at them, and shrugs. “I guess I want to thank Dianna? You are a very fast texter and this wouldn’t have been possible without you.” 

Joe gently pats Booker on the back, “Thank you, Sebastien. Please go take a seat.”

“That was impressive,” Andy admits when Booker is back in his seat and takes another sip of her drink. “Did you pull a muscle trying to smile?”

“Fuck you,” he responds, stealing her drink. He’s smiling into the glass though, doing a lousy attempt of dodging out of the way as Andy reaches over to ruffle his carefully styled hair. “Alright! Alright! The next category is going to be announced and I want to beat you again.” 

Andy rolls her eyes, giving him one last pat before sitting back into her spot, ready for whatever Joe is going to throw at them next. 

With a flourish, Joe clicks the space bar again and the screen lights up with a new title card.

“Our next category is the Weirdest Sleeping Spot! As the title suggests, this category is based on the weirdest spot one has been caught sleeping.” Joe hits space and a slideshow of them all snoozing in various spots and positions begins. “We require plenty of rest to remain youthful. This, unfortunately, means we have to catch our Z’s in some unconventional places.”

“When did you take all these pictures?” Booker asks, leaning forward on the couch. Joe glances back and sees a picture of Booker asleep on top of a fridge. The man wasn’t even curled up on top like one would assume. No, he was half-draped over the top, head and arms hanging on the other side, looking as close to dead one can be while still alive. He looked like a poor Halloween decoration. “I don’t even remember that.” 

“That’s because you’re senile,” Joe retorts and immediately wishes he could take it back. Three unimpressed faces stare back at him from the couches and Joe knows that this is going to be counted against him. _Dammit_. He wants to win the best host at the end of the century. Joe plasters on a winning smile. “I apologize; that comment should have been saved for after the show. All of the pictures were taken some time in the last 10 years; anything before was disqualified. Now, our first nominee, Nicolò, fell asleep in-“

Booker stands up and turns around to look at Andy and Nicky. He gestures wildly at them, some of his drink sloshing onto the floor and all over his hand. Booker slurps up what he can on his hand before saying, “Are we not going to talk about how Joe’s been taking pictures of us sleeping? For more than a decade?” 

Andy lobs a peanut at him. “Sit down!” Booker catches the peanut and pops it into his mouth. 

For a second, just a teeny tiny second, Joe hopes that he chokes on it. 

When it’s clear that no choking will happen, Joe says, “No, we are not. Please take a seat, sir.” 

Booker whirls around, spilling more of his drink. “This is an invasion of privacy!”

“You were in a public area.”

“Technically-“

“If you have to start with technically, you’re wrong,” Joe sighs, motioning to the couch more insistently. He feels like he has just finished 8 hours of customer support and was told by his manager to cover for the coworker they’re currently sleeping with. Andy snags the back of Booker’s pants and whatever was left in Booker’s cup is now sitting on the carpet. _Wonderful_. “As I was saying, Nicolò, over here, fell asleep on a crane that was on top of a 500 m building.” 

Nicky shrugs, “I had a couple of hours to kill until my target arrived.”

“And rather than playing on your phone like any other sane person, you decided to take a nap?” Joe asks. Did Joe already mention that his dear husband was on a crane on top of a 500 m building? Yes? Because that was _important_. 

Everyone turns back to look at Nicky, like spectators at a tennis match. 

Nicky’s shoulders raise in defense. “What’s the problem? I even set an alarm for an hour before the scheduled arrival!” Nicky should know there’s something seriously wrong with what he said when Andy is squinting at him like that. 

“The construction workers were using the crane. It was literally spinning the entire day,” Booker points out and Joe nods. They were literally switching operators every thirty minutes to avoid motion sickness. There are probably carousels that spin less than that crane so Joe still cannot understand how Nicky _fell asleep_. 

“You also cost me 500 euros,” Andy brings back up because of course, she can’t let go of a bet she lost to _Booker_ of all people. “It was supposed to be an easy win. You puked after the teacups.” 

Nicky gapes at her, “That-that doesn’t count! Booker made me eat 5 bananas and drink 2 cans of sprite!” 

“It was a projectile! You could calculate the angle of it!” Andy yells. The thing was, you could. It was a perfect parabola and if Joe had a stronger stomach, he would’ve written down the quadratic equation. Luckily he doesn’t, because it was absolutely disgusting. Top ten grossest things he ever saw his husband do, hands down. Joe had made sure to slip the janitor an extra hundred as he tended to his violently sick husband. 

Knowing that this will lead to a full-blown argument, one that can easily last two months, because who would’ve guessed that immortals are infuriatingly stubborn, Joe quickly interjects. “Now Sebastien, he fell asleep in the trunk of a car, all snuggled up in the new jacket he just bought and ended up giving a poor old lady the scare of her life, literally. Later, I would like to discuss Sebastien’s concerning taste for younger women.”

“Yeah, she was less than half your age. That’s gross, Book,” Andy teases, nudging their shoulders together.

“Preying on the young and vulnerable?” Nicky tuts. “Where's your morals?”

“Fuck you guys,” Booker groans.

“I like older men,” Nicky says with a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, though.”

Smirking, Joe continues. “Next is Andromache, who fell asleep on top of a moving train and managed to stay on it the entire duration of her nap. In fact, she did not even sway an inch; not even when the train was in the process of climbing the side of a mountain.”

There was one point where Joe swears the train was completely vertical. It was worse than San Francisco and at least over there, they had a cable on top for extra support. This train was just a regular passenger train with nothing but wheels on the bottom and conductors with nerves of steel. He’s not ashamed to admit that he was clinging to Nicky the entire time the train was pointed at the sky. 

“Less stuffy up there,” Andy says, taking a sip of her drink. She’s smiling, clearly remembering that supposedly less stuffy nap. 

“I believe you.”

“Plenty of space too.”

“No one’s going to join you, Andy,” Booker groans. “It’s fucking cold up there.” 

What.

Nicky’s face scrunches up in confusion. “That’s-,” Joe shares a look of incredulity with his husband and slowly shakes his head. It’s probably best that they leave this one alone for a couple of centuries. At least two. At most six. “Never mind.” 

“For our last nominee, I managed to find a yak and fall asleep on its back.”

“You conveniently left out the part where it woke up startled and kicked you 20 feet away,” Booker says. 

“ _Thank you_ , Sebastien. As always, your contribution is entirely unwanted.” Joe pulls the second envelope out. If he’s a little aggressive, well, maybe he is a little bitter. Him and the yak had an _agreement_. They were nap buddies, cuddle buddies, and that kick was just _rude_. “Now for our winner,” he opens it and snorts as he reads the card. “Sebastien! Congratulations! You won this decade’s weirdest sleeping spot.”

Booker slowly gets off the couch, like he expects Joe to say ‘Psych!’ and call out somebody else’s name. Joe is _insulted_. He’s a professional! That kind of childish behavior is for the after show. Andy decides Booker’s moving too slow and slaps him on the ass.

“Here you go,” Joe hands him the prize when he’s a foot away and Booker frowns. “A sleeping mask from Delta Airlines?” 

It’s folded in half and barely thicker than a paper towel. Joe had to flirt with one of the stewardesses to get it. 

“To make your sleep more pleasurable.”

“There’s a better one in the bathroom upstairs.”

“Don’t be ungrateful, it’s rude.” Did no one teach their kids manners these days? “What do you have to say?”

Booker shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “In my own defense, both cars were extremely similar.” 

“One was a minivan, the other was a hummer, you dumbass!” Andy heckles, making Joe snort. He quickly covers it with a cough. 

“They look the same when you’re drunk and have your eyes 90% closed. Besides, it’s not like I was planning on giving her a heart attack!” 

Andy’s eyes widened. “You gave her a _heart attack?_ ” 

“A very minor one! She recovered fine, and I did say I was sorry!” 

He did, and it hadn’t even been a bad apology. Joe’s heard a lot worse, especially from Booker, and that apology was a solid 7.8/10. 

“Alright, thank you, Sebastien,” Joe nudges him back to his seat. “Continuing with the weirdest theme, our next category is Weirdest Death.” 

As one, Andy and Nicky let out a pitiful groan.

“Just give it to Booker already,” Andy says. “Fucker always dies in the weirdest ways.” 

“He’s won every single time since he joined us,” Nicky adds, waving a dismissive hand.  
“Give him his prize and let him do his speech.”

“So you guys can count it against me later? No way!” Joe’s not a fool. This is their test. “Unlike our previous entries, this nominee will cover both Nicolò and me. Our dearest Nicolò and I were having a lovely picnic in the middle of the safari. We were enjoying a nice Pinot Noir with some young cantal cheese when we were rudely trampled by a stampede of elephants.”

“Picnic,” Booker repeats, the air quotes evident in his tone, and Joe really wants to wipe that stupid smirk off of Booker’s face. Nicky, his dearest heart, reaches over to smack the bane of Joe’s existence over the back of his head. It’s a satisfying thunk too, deep and loud, it practically resonates in all of their chests. “Fu- _ow!_ I only have one brain, Nicky!”

“More like one brain cell,” Nicky retorts. 

Joe almost bends down onto one knee right there. 

No. He has a plan. He’s not going to ruin it because he’s too impatient. Instead, he gestures to Andy, “Andromache was taking a stroll in one of Colorado’s mountains when she accidentally walked into a cult’s trap. After being shot with an elephant tranquilizer, she woke up tied to a tree and was shot with a special marijuana filled bullet as a sacrifice to their Marijuana god.”

When Andy stormed back into their cabin that night, reeking of marijuana, they had all thought she went out to get a smoke. It was the natural, logical, explanation. Sure, it was strange that she didn’t invite Nicky, that she didn’t smoke near the cabin where there was a fully stocked kitchen, but a quick glance at the calendar was enough to shrug away the weirdness. Andy always got a little weird around Quynh’s anniversary. 

Nicky did feel better after Andy explained over aggressive bites of pasta why she was out for so long. 

“Bullets filled with marijuana,” Booker says, impressed. “If I wasn’t here, that’d surely be the winner.”

“I know,” Andy grumbles, taking an angry swig of her drink. 

“For our reigning titleholder, Sebastien continued to drink an excessive amount of soda despite all of our constant reminders that there would not be any bathrooms for another hour. Our stubborn Sebastien, of course, ignored us and after drinking 64oz of Pepsi, he had to pee. So in the pouring rain, Andromache pulled over. Sebastien sprinted to the treeline and as he began to relieve himself, Zeus struck our poor nominee. He died in his puddle of pee.”

Nicky shakes his head, looking at Booker with a little bit of awe. “How do these things keep on happening to you?” 

“The comedic gods really like me.” _Something_ out there really likes him, that’s for sure.  
Joe pulls out the correct envelope and is completely unsurprised with what he reads. 

“Our winner is, of course, Sebastien! Congratulations!” Joe picks up the prize and holds it out; Booker takes it with a grin.

“A voodoo doll of myself?” The doll has a denim jacket and the same haircut Booker has been sporting for the last six years. Booker pokes the doll’s eyes and squishes its plump body. “I’m keeping this.”

“And not the other prizes?”

“This one is custom made; it gets custom treatment.” He has a point. “As for my speech, I would like to thank myself, the greatest and worst person to exist.”

Joe shares another look with his husband. Andy, on the other hand, doesn’t give a fuck, “The prize should’ve been therapy.”

“Okay,” Joe says after an awkward moment of silence. “Thank you for your speech; please return to your seat so we can continue.” 

“Are you going to turn the slideshow off?” Nicky asks. 

Joe turns around and what do you know? The TV is still playing the slideshow of them all sleeping. “There were no repeats,” Nicky says as Joe skips to the last picture. It’s Booker sprawled out on the kitchen table, button shirt undone, legs hanging off one end. “It really is concerning that you have this many photos.”

“I did say that we require plenty of rest,” Joe hits space, hits it again, because whoops, he totally skipped the Weirdest Death slide, and they’re back on track! On-screen, a cartoon grim reaper is pacing along the bottom while the rest of the screen is proudly proclaiming ‘Dumbest Death!’

“First up,” Joe says, setting the laptop aside. “We already know that Nicolò has a partner that is incapable of satisfying him in the bedroom.” Joe turns around just in time for the first honey roasted peanut thrown by Nicky to hit him in the face instead of the back of his head. It’s quickly followed by fifty more. Next time he hosts, he’s putting marshmallows on the table. Or anything that doesn’t hurt if it gets thrown at him. He shakes his head, multiple peanuts falling to the floor and shoots a glare at Nicky, who has the audacity to smirk at him. “I believe the impotence is related to the abuse the partner receives daily,” he catches the peanut this time and flings it to the floor. What’s a little more mess? “But I digress, Nicolò wanted to sp _ice_ things up in the bedroom four years ago. His brilliant solution? It was to introduce, I’m sorry, _re_ -introduce food into their sex life. He bought a box of bomb pops and that same night, gave a fortunate bomb pop the best night of its very short existence. He lavished every square inch with his tongue, curled his tongue around the length, sucked all the juices,” Joe coughs, fans his face as he takes a sip of his drink. Did the heater kick on? Andy and Booker look faintly flushed; he makes a mental note to inform the butler that the heating system is acting up. “As I was saying, Nicolò was having a very nice time with the bomb pop, familiarizing his throat to the cold treat when the popsicle decided it did not need the stick now that it had Nicolò’s warm, slick, tight throat,” Joe pauses and places his hands over his heart. “I am sad to inform you that they both passed together.”

“I’m deducting points for the over-sexualization of Nicky,” Andy says after he’s finished and Nicky, that traitor, agrees! Booker pours the three of them another drink and they down it in one go after a quick _cheers_. Joe refrains from rolling his eyes. He’s not going to give them petty reasons to deduct points from him. 

“My apologies, I will be sure to refrain myself from sexualizing the next three nominees.”

“ _Over_ -sexualizing,” Andy emphasizes. “Sexualize a little, we want to feel wanted.” 

“Of course,” Joe agrees and moves on to the next nominee. “Andromache displayed an impressive amount of strength on July 20th, 2011, knocking out the idiotic vending machine that decided to withhold her snack with one powerful kick. The half-ton machine rocked on its stands and fell with a mighty shriek that could be heard from the other end of the motel. Both parties died on Motel 6’s second-floor hallway, spilling blood, glass and packaged goods on concrete that has never seen a power washer. May that machine rot in the afterlife.” Joe looks at his audience expectantly when he finishes. He thinks he did a pretty good job balancing the sexualization on this one. 

Andy holds out a hand up and tilts it side to side. Booker shrugs and Nicky gives him two thumbs up. 

He knocked that one out of the park! Screw what those losers, not Nicky, think. 

“Now Sebastien,” already the others are preparing themselves. Booker’s hunching in on himself and covering his face and Joe grins. It’s _that_ death. “Sebastien had just finished his second bottle of vodka when he decided to scar the rest of us with his bare chest and abs. Had I been single, perhaps I might have even been impressed. But I was not and bleach does not clean everything for those who are curious,” Joe clears his throat, he’s getting sidetracked. “Naked as the day he was born, Sebastien took a leap of faith off our fourth story balcony, crooning that he believed he could fly, that he could touch the sky! And he was close! He touched the cobbled sidewalk and our very own heart’s that night.” Perhaps the hand over his heart and the tears were a tad too much. Joe sniffs and wipes his eyes with a napkin. 

“No mention of my ass?” Booker asks, outraged. He’s armed with a pillow and Joe holds both of his hands up. 

“I find your pecs more attractive,” Joe gently says. There we go. Put the pillow down. 

“Firm, big, looks like they can bench press a car.” 

Andy snorts, “Both are fucking flat.” Unsurprisingly, she receives the pillow to the face. Joe’s just happy that it wasn’t him or Nicky. 

“Now for our last nominee, I was also drunk. On my way to pick our dear Sebastien off the sidewalk, I got distracted by some rummaging nearby. When I went to investigate, I was pleasantly surprised to find a cute little raccoon. It had tiny hands, big eyes, and the fluffiest tail! One thing led to another and I had the cute little raccoon in a pillowcase as a gift for my lovely husband. Turns out, the cute little raccoon had rabies and I was consequently banned from touching raccoons after that night.”

“The raccoon was a gift?” Nicky asks and Joe looks at him strangely. What did he think it was? “I thought you just wanted another pet.”

“No! It was supposed to be your Pedro!” Nicky squints and Joe has never wanted to shake his husband by the shoulders so badly. “Pet inside pillowcase? Pillow Pet?” 

“Ohh okay,” it’s squeaky and clearly, his genius isn’t appreciated. “I would prefer if you don’t traumatize an animal and me the next time.” 

“Sure,” Joe says, like a liar. Maybe a puppy will work. They’re less panicky and scratchy. They also get shots. He purposely doesn’t look at Nicky as he pulls out the envelope with the winner’s name. “Now our winner for the dumbest way to die…” He really hopes it’s Nicky. Not only because he’s a supportive husband, but because of the speech. Joe can already picture the stammering as he tries to justify what happened. He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he says, “Congratulations Sebastien...again!”

Joe claps twice, he still has to be somewhat professional and grabs the prize. He gives it to Booker, “An IQ test because something is not right with you.”

“Thanks,” Booker says flatly, rolling his eyes, and Joe shrugs. It’s not like he picked that prize for Booker, he just happened to be the dumbass that won it.  
Booker holds up the envelope with the prize, “I would like to thank R Kelly for creating a masterpiece and that raccoon for biting Joe. That is all.” 

Joe does _not_ sign ‘bitch’ to Booker’s retreating back. He was merely sweeping a stray curl from his forehead.

The next slide is a picture of a helicopter on fire. 

“I thought we should finish this year’s special categories early, so our next category is Biggest Explosion.” Nicky and Andy glare at Booker, who hunches in on himself under the combined force of AndyandNicky. Joe can’t blame him. If he was in Booker’s shoes, he’d be doing his damn best to crawl inside one of the cushions. Before any fists or drinks can be thrown, Joe hurriedly adds on, “We are a discreet team! Giant explosions tend to draw attention!” 

“And you chose this category because?” Crap, now Nicky’s giving him the look. 

“I just wanted to give Booker the chance to win something different!” 

“He’s won all of them!” 

“You cannot blame me! We all voted!” Nicky crosses his arms, displeasure etched into every crevice of his eternally youthful face. 

They’ve never had one person win this many categories. Andy won the most in 1829, taking home four awards and it’s unbelievable that someone has just beat that record. The fact that it’s Booker makes it even more baffling. 

“Alright, well this should come as no surprise, but our dear Nicolò blew up a car this decade too. Several, in fact, but the one that is worthy of attention is the Rolls Royce.” Nicky lets out a groan and covers his face in shame. “As all of you know, cars don’t explode when they’re crashed. They catch on fire, but they don’t explode. Nicolò has broken all laws of physics because not only did that Rolls Royce explode, it made the cars on both sides explode as well.”

“I just left the car in park, I swear!” Booker snorts and Nicky shoots him a withering glare. 

With both hands held up, Booker says, “I’m just glad we weren’t depending on that valet job.” 

The restaurant had ended up sending a bill instead of a first paycheck. It was a big one too; Joe has seen lottery jackpots with fewer figures. If they didn’t have new aliases lined up, he’s pretty sure they would’ve still been paying off that debt. 

“Andromache is a beast with any type of weapon. She can find eight dozen ways to take down her opponent and in my opinion, never has she shown as much creativity and skill than in Argentina. Armed with only a wooden pencil, she made a helicopter explode. Fire rained down on all of us that day.” Joe makes a T with his hands. “Seriously, how’d you do it?” Andy shrugs, looking incredibly smug as she pops a peanut into her mouth. “Come on! We’ve been dying to know for years!”

“Guess you guys will have to continue waiting.” 

Joe hmphs but lets it go. “Sebastien outdid himself last summer. We all doubted that he could hack into the silo. We said that the security was too advanced, that there were multiple protocols in place to fire a missile, but he proved us wrong! Not only did he get a hold of all the missiles, he also fired them at an abandoned base! I can confidently speak for us all when I say never have I ever been so impressed by his skills and terrified by the simplicity of these supposedly top-tier security systems.”

If Booker can get into it on a dare, what’s holding back other advanced hackers? Morals?

“I told you I could do it.” 

Joe gives Booker two thumbs up. “And you did!”

“I made a very big mistake one morning. While the oven was preheating for the cinnamon rolls, I was busy making french omelets, the trickiest omelet in the world might I add, on the stove. This is why I never noticed that the oven was in fact not preheating, but slowly becoming a gas tank. When I opened the oven to put the cinnamon rolls in...well, the kitchen was a little dated, it needed a remodeling. I also don’t hear anybody complaining about the extra precision with the electric oven.”

“We had to remodel the living room too,” Nicky says. What is this? Pick on Joe day? “Don’t give me that face. All the furniture was brand new and you burnt it!”

“On accident!” He isn’t upset that the couch didn’t make it though. It was too small, ugly as hell, and not lumpy enough for his comfort. He purposely ignores Nicky muttering, “Yeah right,” and pulls the winning envelope out. 

“Our winner for Biggest Explosion is Sebastien! Come up here and get your award!” Booker grins as he takes the custom made lighter. “Lighter fluid not included,” Joe reminds him. 

“Thank you! It’s even got my name engraved on the bottom!” Andy rolls her eyes, coughing “Rigged” like the sore loser she is. “I want to thank you guys because if you hadn’t doubted me, I wouldn’t be up here.”

“Alright, take a seat,” Joe says, the only one clapping this time. 

The next slide is a spin-off from the dumbest death slide. Aside from the title change, the cartoon grim reaper is walking backward. 

“We die a lot. It’s an undeniable fact. Sometimes, we die in some very inconvenient places, for example, in public. It has occurred enough times that it has become customary to throw out the weirdest explanations for why we are in fact, not dead, even though we were ten seconds ago. Here are our top best excuses for suddenly being not dead. 

“Nicolò is a phenomenal sniper. He frequently takes out multiple opponents with one bullet and in this mission, he did as well. He shot his four targets, packed up, and headed for his extraction point just like we planned. What he did not account for was the enemy expecting the attack and thus, following him through the crowd and shooting him in the chest, multiple times. When he gasped awake not a minute later, scaring the heck out of the poor paramedics, he pulled out a ziplock from his inner pocket that at one point was filled with dark chocolate covered almonds but was now blood covered dark chocolate covered almonds, held it in front of the paramedic’s faces and said ‘squibs.’” Joe pauses, mouth forming into a tight-lipped smile. They’re really not going to like the next part. “I would like to take this time to remind you all that we should avoid going to Madrid for at least six more decades.” 

Nicky winces. “Maybe eight, just to be safe.” 

Andy side-eyes him. “If my favorite bakery closes, you’re dead.” 

Joe looks at Booker, silently begging the man to make some anonymous donations to the bakery in the coming decades. He really doesn’t want to mop up Nicky’s blood. Booker takes a sip of his drink and winks at him. 

Allah, he’s going to be mopping up Nicky’s blood. 

“Andromache is undeniably the toughest one of us all. She has walked off shattered kneecaps, tiger maulings, and trains. Yes, trains. Our dearest friend may have been a little intoxicated when she walked in front of a train and was thrown fifty feet away. Luckily, by the time the bystanders reached her, she was awake and shaking off all the broken bones. When asked how in the world she was alive, she laughed and said, ‘Lots of people survive getting hit by trains!’ To this day, everyone in Trier, Germany still talks about the Florida Woman who flew.” 

“I can’t believe they thought I was American,” Andy spits and Booker hands her his drink while Nicky pats her back sympathetically. 

“It’s because your accent is perfect,” Nicky says and Joe falls a little bit more in love right there. His husband is comforting the woman who was threatening him not five minutes ago. The size of his heart! How Nicky doesn’t have permanent lower back pain from carrying all that kindness will always be a mystery.

Joe shakes his head. He’s hosting, he can’t let himself get lost in thoughts of Nicky. “Sebastien was not minding his own business as he snooped through an organization’s headquarters that I’m not allowed to name, but rhymes with Wesley. He had the necessary files on a thumb drive and was exiting the building as planned when he was caught. The choices were the window or torture. He fell twenty stories and landed on a Prius, totaling the tiny car and capturing the attention of everyone on the block. As soon as he woke up and saw all the people, he pulled out his phone and started babbling about subjects being concerned, mostly panicked, two out of eight are level-headed. ‘Social experiment on how people react to people violently dying in front of them,’ he explained. He had to cradle his healed nose as he ran away from the mob.” 

“I don’t get how when Nicky essentially does the same thing, he comes out with friends but when _I_ do it, I get hit.” 

Joe waves his hand vaguely at Booker, “You have a punchable face.”

“Plus, Nicky looks like a grandpa in a 30-year-old’s body,” Andy says and Joe’s _offended_ on Nicky’s behalf. Nicky looks like a grandpa in a _hot_ 30-year-old’s body! It’s one part charming and one part sexy. 

“I died in a slightly different manner. Instead of going out in blood and broken bones, I was poisoned inside a sacred place, a coffee shop. Someone slipped cyanide inside my latte and in less than a minute, I was dead on the coffee shop’s floor. So it was a surprise for everyone when I gasped awake and choked out, ‘Good thing I took a charcoal pill, huh?’ I got a free large latte to go, so it was honestly worth it in the end.”

“Hazelnut?” Booker asks and what kind of _bitch_ drinks hazelnut? 

“White mocha,” Joe responds with a huff, beyond offended. 

“Leave it,” Nicky advises when Booker opens his mouth. “Just...just leave it.”

Joe pulls the envelope with the winner out aggressively. Hazelnut? Really? He opens it and really? “Continuing his streak, please congratulate Sebastien.” They should just rename this the Sebastien Awards because honestly? This is getting beyond ridiculous. He flicks the card away and picks up the prize. “For you,” he says as he hands the prize over. 

Booker looks at it and when he smiles, it looks like he’s constipated. “Thanks, I love...Pikachu?” Booker’s face has never looked more punchable in Joe’s opinion. Joe’s fingers tighten around the microphone and he takes a deep breath, eyes closing as he gathers his composure. 

“Pinocchio,” Joe corrects and he’s proud that it doesn’t sound like an attack. “Pikachu is SpongeBob’s friend.”

“Oh right, this is the guy who flies, right?” Kill him. Joe doesn’t care how, just kill him to get him out of this awful conversation. 

“No, this is the guy whose nose grows when he lies.” 

“Huh, creative. There’s nobody I would like to thank aside from me, myself, and I. All those bystanders were assholes and Nest--I mean the company that rhymes with Wesley can burn.”

Oddly enough, this is Joe’s favorite speech so far. He makes sure to clap extra loudly before switching to the next slide.

“We are a competitive bunch. This coupled with our ample amount of time, we do some unusual things to pass the time. This next category is only a small glimpse into the craziness that is an immortal bet. I am proud to present our four most outlandish bets won. 

“On November 20th, 2009, in front of eight-thousand screaming fans, Nicolò opened up for Taylor Swift. With nothing but an acoustic guitar and a fake mustache, he belted his giant Genevan heart out. Taylor Swift has better security now.” And a restraining order on Nicky. 

“Heard there was this Italian guy who constantly gets confused as you,” Booker says. “Eats it up too.”

“That’s...disturbing.” 

Wait a second. There is a man in Italy who looks almost like Nicky? And Booker didn’t _tell_ him? Some brother he is.

“Andromache is an excellent deceiver. This is why Sebastien is a fool for betting that Andromache cannot convince a whole banquet that she is royalty. She is so good in fact that she convinced the Queen, yes, _that_ Queen, that she was a long lost relative. She had the whole room eating out of the palms of her hand, quite literally, by the end of the night.”

Seeing the Queen eat mashed potatoes out of Andy’s palms is probably one of the strangest memories in Joe’s head. He doesn’t even want to know why it was mashed potatoes and not something less messy, like steak. 

Andy is leaning comfortably against the couch, both arms spread out. Joe has no trouble imagining her sitting like this on a golden throne, terrified subjects kneeling before her. “What can I say? I’m great at lying. I even made you all believe that I like you.” 

Booker lobs a peanut at her. “Lies, you love us.”

“Yeah, we bring you back dessert,” Nicky adds.

Booker holds up his right hand, index finger extended, “And we let you beat our asses on a regular basis.”

“No, that part’s for real,” Joe reminds him and Booker slowly lowers his hand as he smiles sheepishly at her. “Oh yeah.”

“Sebastien impressed us all two years ago when he stole a cruise ship. This cruise ship was packed with people and the size of a small city, it was literally a small mobile island and that guy sitting right over there stole it. He left everyone in the Bahamas and that boat is now docked somewhere in the Atlantic.” 

Andy frowns and looks at Booker. “I thought you moved it.”

“I thought I did too?” 

Oh boy. 

“No one but Nicolò believed that I could sell anything to anyone. They said that I could sell small things, paintings, jewelry, but nothing big. Well, I proved them wrong. I sold a $62.4 million dollar private island that wasn’t even mine to a billionaire who cannot be named but sounds a lot like Beelon Tusk.”

Booker rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe you’re still rubbing this in our faces.”

“It’s only been two weeks!” 

“Yeah, you’ve been insufferable for two weeks now.”

“Children, please,” Andy pointedly looks at him and Joe clenches his mouth shut. Booker started it. “Thank you. Announce the winner.”

Joe dips his head in apology and pulls out the envelope. Oh wow. He really didn’t see this one coming. “Our 43rd winner for the Most Outlandish Bet Won is Sebastien le Livre!” 

Booker takes the briefcase and his eyes light up when he opens it. “How much is in here?”

“50k,” Joe answers and Booker lets out a low whistle. “Don’t have too much fun later.”  
Booker snaps the case shut, “No promises. I have to admit, I didn’t think I would win this one. I really thought Nicky would take this one, especially since Taylor Swift doesn’t perform in Rome now, only Venice. Anyways, I want to thank Royal Caribbean for having large ships that are easy to steal and Joe for betting that I couldn’t steal it. This wouldn’t have been possible without you two.”

It really wouldn’t have. 

Joe claps and switches to the next slide: it’s a ghost cartoon wearing a black mask.  
“A critical component of a mission is a disguise. This decade has seen our most creative disguises, so without any further delays, here are our Best Disguises. Covered from his head to his toes in gray body paint, Nicolò stood in the Galleria dell'Accademia for three hours after operating hours pretending to be a statue of David. And yes, he was naked.” Nicky throws a peanut at him and it hits him in the cheek. Sometimes, the cons of being soul-bound to a sniper severely outweighed the pros. “You were!”

“You’re making it creepy,” Nicky tells him, lobbing another peanut that Joe ducks this time. 

“We already warned you about over sexualizing Nicky,” Andy says.

Joe starts to sigh, then remembers he wants to win the best host, so instead he says, “This next nominee will cover both Andromache and I. After being spotted inside the Galleria dell'Accademia, Andromache and I ran into the streets and disappeared in plain sight. At least, that’s what the guards thought. In reality, we pulled the dress we’ve been wearing all night over our heads, squatted next to a door, and became another bag of trash. It’s a clever trick we learned watching a movie.” 

“You looked good in that dress,” Nicky says and Joe smiles because he really did. It hugged all of his curves and did wonders for his ass. Throwing the dress away was one of the saddest moments of this decade. 

“While Andromache and I were running across the streets, Sebastien was across the city in the wax museum, dressed up like our favorite pop star, Taylor Swift! With a blonde wig that was carefully styled and some bright red lipstick, our dear Sebastien fooled those nightguards.” Joe pauses, “And a mob of fans.” 

“I know it was one of you who tweeted.” 

For the first time, Joe can honestly say that it wasn’t him. If he happened to find a nearby roof very interesting while Andy pulled out her phone, well, it was a very interesting roof.

Joe pulls the winning envelope out, carefully avoiding Booker’s eyes. “This decade’s winner for best disguise is Sebastien! You are very familiar with the drill, come up here and claim your award!” This award is the biggest and was the hardest one to acquire. It’s also for Nicky, but this works perfectly too. 

Booker smiles funnily at him. “You knew I’d win?” he asks, holding up the signed Taylor Swift poster.

“Nope,” Joe answers, popping the ‘p’. “I voted for Nicky.” Nicky perks up from his spot on the couch, only to deflate a second later as he remembers that he was naked for this category. 

“Wow,” Booker purses his lips and Joe rolls his eyes. It’s not like Booker wasn’t singing Dear John at the top of his lungs three days ago, sobbing through the bridge every six minutes. “No, you are _not_ mentioning sad Booker hours.”

“ _Every_ hour is sad Booker hour!” So maybe he deserves the very rude gesture Booker makes at him. “Okay, I apologize! Please give your speech so we can move on.”

“Definitely docking for rushing congratulatory speeches.” Of course, he is. “Taylor, thank you for making great music. I will continue to support you in your musical journey, only partly because of Joe’s irrational hatred of you.” _Irrational?_ That devil has a restraining order on the love of his life! If his little pat ended up skirting on the edge of a shove, well, Joe’s not going to cry over any deductions later. 

“You know when you’re so buzzed, your toes are numb?” Booker asks, curling his toes on top of the table. When did he take his shoes off?

“I’m pretty sure that’s called being drunk, but go on,” Joe says.

“I think I’m there.”

Joe waits for Booker to continue, but when it’s clear that he has nothing more to say, Joe clears his throat and introduces the last category, clicking to the last slide for the night. “To wrap up this strange night, we have Best Death. For a death to be qualified, a person has to die saving something, this can be a cake, another person, a raccoon, anything, it just has to be a noble death. As a reminder, no jokes will be made during this category. It’s our one serious category and I know we all firmly agree on respecting it.” After a moment of silence, Joe continues. “Nicolò dived into the ocean after a container full of smuggled foreigners fell into the water. He was able to open the latch and free the people, but as he was resurfacing, a container fell on him. Sebastien jumped on top of a grenade, saving the thirty refugees hiding in the bunker. Andromache was on the Deepwater Horizon rig when it exploded. She burned and suffocated as she tried to save as many workers as she could. Lastly, I allowed myself to get captured while the rest of the team snuck the prisoners out of the camp.”

“We did good,” Nicky reminds everyone. “And I’m proud of us.”

“Yeah,” Joe agrees, a little hollow. This time, Booker pours them all a drink and they silently clink their glasses together before knocking back the liquor. 

After putting the glass down, he pulls the last envelope of the night out. He carefully slides his thumb under the wax seal, it’ll be another ten years before he sees this stamp in use again, and pulls the card out. He huffs when he reads the name. Tonight is definitely going to be a night they’ll never forget. 

“Our last winner of the night is Sebastien! Congratulations, you have made history by not only beating Andy’s record for most wins in a night, but also for being the only member to win every single category!” 

Booker stumbles to him, from the alcohol or the shock, Joe’s not sure, and he hands him the last award of the night. “To pay our respect.”

Booker takes the red candle and opens the lid to take a sniff. “Smells like Fireball.”

“Non-alcoholics call that cinnamon.” Joe tells him. 

Booker blinks. “Whatever.”

“You should’ve got one that smells like Malibu!” Andy chirps, “They smell better!” 

“ _Coconut?_ ” Nicky and Joe ask at the same time and Andy waves at them dismissively. “Semantics.”

“No, I appreciate the smell of fire- _cinnamon_. Thank you, Joe. As for my speech, I’m just happy those people got a second chance at life. They deserved it.” 

Joe claps Booker on the shoulder, “You did good, Book.”

Now that the show is officially over, it’s time for pictures. In the beginning, this meant everyone would pose with their prizes while Joe hurriedly sketched them without compromising too many details. Now, however, they get to use _cameras_. Joe gets to be a part of the group photos and he no longer has to suffer from fidgety subjects. It’s no surprise that he loves them. 

Since Booker is the only one who won anything, Joe directs him to the spot right in front of the TV, where the first slide is back on the screen and takes multiple photos of him with all his prizes. 

“Smile! Less quokka, more human! _Ow_ ,” Joe puts the camera down and throws the candle back at him. “Do you want to be included in the album of winners or not?” 

“Do you want to be hit with the rock next?” Booker counters. Unsurprisingly, Joe raises the camera once again. 

For the 43rd entry in the Great Album of Winners, two pictures are taped side to side. The first is Booker holding all of his prizes, smiling like a normal human being. The second is Booker grinning like a maniac with a quokka photoshopped next to his face.

It’s the team’s new favorite entry.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due: [pillow pet](https://andy-the-scythian.tumblr.com/post/631416575160893440/nicky-wasnt-that-drunk-andy-you-stuffed-a-stray), [like a liar](http://www.johnmulaney.com/), [what kind of bitch drinks hazelnut?](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tag_\(2018_film\)), [coconut](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe1QjprU/), [fireball](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe1QL3Fu/) and [quokka](https://oldguardhc.tumblr.com/post/640049372475834368/oldguardhc-mancandykings-x-please-tell-me-im)
> 
> Outfits:  
> 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://oldguardhc.tumblr.com/) too!


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